Smoke and Mirrors
by Phantom Thief Zel
Summary: A death forces Trent to examine not only his abilities as a doctor, but also his true purpose of existence. Meanwhile, his obsession with a certain silver-haired thief grows stronger by the day... SLASH, Skye x Trent
1. Something In Your Eyes Was So Inviting

"_I heard the old, old men say,_  
'_Everything alters,  
__And one by one we drop away.'  
They had hands like claws, and their knees  
Were twisted like the old thorn trees  
By the waters._  
'_All that's beautiful drifts away  
Like the waters.''  
-- W.B. Yeats_

-x-

Her name was Iris, and she was a beautiful baby girl.

Or she would have been, had her small, delicate body not been fraught with sickness. She tossed and turned in her crib, occasionally coughing or sneezing pitifully, her sweet, chubby little face flushed with fever. Her usually vibrant green eyes were watery and muddled, clouded by the glassy pall of illness.

"I know we should have called you sooner," Jill said, wringing her hands worriedly. Her brown hair was a mess and there were dark circles under her eyes, a testimony to the very few hours of sleep she had been getting as of late. "But Vesta's home remedies have never failed us before…" She exchanged a frightened glance with her husband, Marlin.

"It's perfectly understandable," Trent said, straightening up and hanging his stethoscope from his neck once more. "It's only a cold, after all. A severe cold, maybe, but a cold nonetheless."

"But she's had this cold for more than a week now," Jill said, still fretful. "Is that normal?"

"Quite. Infants' immune systems are very weak, and they often have trouble fending off the cold virus." Trent rummaged through his bag and withdrew a small bottle, which he then handed to Jill. "Here are some saline drops you can use to clear the congestion in her nose. Otherwise, simply give her plenty of liquids and keep the air in the room fairly moist. You do have a humidifier, don't you?" The brunette woman nodded eagerly. "Well then, I'm sure Iris will recover from her cold soon enough. Don't worry."

Both Jill and Marlin breathed a sigh of relief. The young woman bent over the crib and stroked Iris's flushed cheek lovingly. "You'll be alright," she whispered. "Don't cry."

Marlin turned towards Trent. "Thank you," he said, dark eyes even more intense than usual. He held out a strong, weatherworn hand and Trent shook it, trying not to wince at the vice-like grip.

"It's no trouble, really. Just make sure to call me if her condition seems to be worsening in any way."

Marlin nodded gravely as he walked Trent to the door. "Sorry to make you pay a house call so late, Doctor. It's just that Jill and I are so busy with the farm during the day…"

Trent proffered up a small, tired smile. "No, no, it's really not a problem. I'm actually quite a night owl."

Suddenly, a sharp, barking cough echoed through the room, followed by a strange, hollow wheezing that made them all shudder. Trent turned back to see Jill peering down at Iris with obvious alarm. She glanced up, and her anxious brown eyes found Trent's, seeking reassurance that this deathly sound was nothing to worry about…

There was something about that cough that had sounded sickeningly familiar. He had heard something like it years before, when he was but a fresh-faced medical student learning the basics of diagnosis. But it couldn't be. He had never encountered a case of that in all his years of work in Mineral Town and Forget-Me-Not.

Iris coughed again, her fragile chest heaving from the effort, but this cough sounded normal. Trent realized that he had been holding his breath, and he exhaled loudly.

"Don't worry," he said to Iris's concerned parents, trying to convince himself that it was just a cold, just a cold, just a cold… "She'll be fine soon enough. Good night to you both."

With doubt nagging at the back of his mind, Trent shouldered his bag and stepped out into the night.

-x-

He had lied. He wasn't a 'night owl' at all. In fact, Trent usually made it a rule to be asleep promptly by ten every evening, if not earlier. But he was always willing to go the extra mile for his patients, even if that meant rousing himself from peaceful slumber at midnight to make a house call. After all, the wellbeing of those around him was far more important that a good night's rest.

Trent ran a hand through his dark hair, yawning as he trudged wearily back to Hardy's. The Valley was quiet at this time of night, when shadows drenched the soil and the moon shone with a halo of light amongst the smoky purple clouds. Cool wind swept past, rustling the leaves of the trees: gloomy sentinels of wood and foliage that arched their branches against the darkened sky. The villagers had all retired to their beds, and their houses loomed like the skulls of dead men, with unlit windows like empty, unseeing eye sockets. Except… Trent stopped and gazed up the path towards Romana's villa, which, in glaring defiance against the darkness, was aflame with blinding light. He frowned, blinking in surprise at the brightness, and absently wondered if Romana was hosting a party of some sort.

But then came a shout, reverberating through the stillness of the night.

"Stop! Thief!"

The shout had come from the direction of the villa. Trent's dark eyes widened in astonishment. A thief? In Forget-Me-Not? Struck by a sort of dark fascination, he stared transfixed at the brilliantly lit mansion, listening to the commotion and chaos escalating in volume from within. Muffled shouting could be heard, followed by loud banging and even a shrill scream.

As Trent watched, a lone figure appeared suddenly at the villa's open gate, materializing out of thin air. The figure strolled leisurely down the path towards him with an effortless grace, a ghost silhouetted by the shining illumination of the mansion. Its movements were languid and dangerous, like a snake coiling to strike, but also flowing and gentle like water, and Trent stood hypnotized as the figure drew closer still. It came closer, and closer, until its features were visible in the pale moonlight…

Trent found himself gazing upon an angel.

He was beautiful, with sharp, elegant features, high cheek bones, and a body as lithe as a cat's. His skin was gossamer white, porcelain and luminous against the shadows of midnight, without a trace of imperfection. His captivating green eyes regarded Trent with cool amusement from under a shock of long quicksilver hair, and around his nimble fingers there twirled a bracelet of gleaming jewels and jade.

'He must be the thief,' Trent's mind was telling him. 'He's a criminal. Don't let him get away!'

But his body would not cooperate. He was struck motionless by the ethereal beauty of this man, unable to do anything but stare.

The doctor and the thief stood regarding each other for what felt like eternity, hypnotic green gazing deep into wary black… And then the silver-haired phantom smiled, lips curling into a devious smirk that sent shivers down Trent's spine.

"The good doctor…" he murmured, with a roguish edge to his smooth, lilting voice. "How lovely to finally meet you. I don't believe we've ever been introduced, have we?"

"… Wh-who are you?" Trent demanded, cautious but curious all the same.

"I," the man declared with a grandiose, sweeping hand gesture, "am the notorious Phantom Skye. Thief of gems, trinkets, valuables, and hearts alike. I take it you've heard of me?"

He had. The name 'Phantom Skye' was often whispered fearfully amongst the Valley's inhabitants, though no one seemed to know much about the fatally charming thief. Trent had assumed that he was but a myth, a story invented to explain missing crops and knick-knacks… But here he was in the flesh, smiling a smile full of secrets, displaying his latest conquest with pride.

He was real, all right. And Goddess, he was lovely.

"He went this way!" someone shouted from farther up the path, and the hazy beams of flashlights pierced the sky as the pursuing party prepared for the hunt. Skye glanced back over his shoulder, then sighed and shook his head in disgust.

"Incompetent fools," he muttered. "They'll never catch me." He strode briskly towards Trent, who took a small, cautious step backwards. The Phantom brushed past him, all quick movements and blurred edges, whispering as he did so. "Well met, Doctor. If you think of it, point them in the wrong direction, would you?"

And then he was gone, as if he had pulled the cloak of night about his shoulders.

Trent stood dumbfounded, staring at the spot where Skye had been just moments earlier. 'What in hell's name just happened?' he wondered.

The sound of running feet woke him from his trance, and he glanced up to see a small group approaching, flashlights swinging wildly to and fro.

"Doctor Trent!" a girl's voice called, and as the group neared he saw that it was Lumina. She looked panicked – her usual poise was gone, replaced by worry and desperation. She was followed by Romana's butler Sebastian, as well as two police officers and man enshrouded by a long trenchcoat.

"Doctor, did the Phantom Thief come this way?" Lumina asked. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, seeking the man who had stolen her most precious family heirloom.

_If you think of it, point them in the wrong direction, would you?_

"… Yes, I saw him," Trent said quietly. "He went in that direction." The doctor raised a shaky finger and pointed in the direction that Skye had vanished.

"Thank you!" the girl called, and then she was off running again, determined to catch the lethally alluring Phantom Skye. A small voice in the back of Trent's mind told him that she would not.

The man in the trenchcoat tipped his battered fedora respectfully, and the rest of the group followed after Lumina.

Trent returned to Hardy's in a daze, wondering if perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming.

-x-

The Doctor wasn't muttering to himself, which Elli took to be a very bad sign indeed.

He had been abnormally quiet since his weekly return from Forget-Me-Not, which made Elli wonder if perhaps something had happened… Perhaps someone in the Valley had suffered a terrible accident? No, Elli thought. If something unsettling had occurred, he would have told her straightaway. He wasn't the type to withhold important details from his trusted nurse.

But in that case, the question still remained: What was weighing so heavily on his mind?

Elli had known the Doctor for quite a few years, and loved him for just as many. She often thought that she knew him better than he knew himself. She could tell when something was wrong by subtle differences in his voice, his habits, his eyes…

Yes, Elli knew the Doctor well. Too well.

'In a day or so,' she thought, 'he'll have it all sorted out.' And then she nodded and forced a smile, just like she did every single day.

He was staring absentmindedly into the distance, fingers entwined in an elegant steeple, when she entered his office. Even after all this time, she couldn't help but be awestruck by him – his composure, his intensity, his casual, gentle detachment. Elli had fancied herself the luckiest girl in the world when he had accepted her affections.

But now, although her love still burned passionately within the depths of her heart, sometimes she wondered if she was all that lucky after all.

"Trent," she said quietly, trying not to startle him. "I'm heading home now."

He lifted his dark eyes slowly, expression hardly wavering, and nodded. "Alright, then. Good night, Elli."

There was a distance – a preoccupation – to his tone of voice that disturbed her. Medical issues rarely occupied his mind for so many days on end… It had to be something else. But what? Elli found herself biting her lip worriedly, a nervous habit that she had been trying to break.

"Trent, you should think of turning in for the night. The train for Forget-Me-Not leaves earlier than usual tomorrow morning."

"… You don't say?" was his mumbled response. His eyes were once again fixated on nothing in particular, and she could almost see the well-oiled cogs of his mind turning.

Silence fell. It was deafening.

Elli's gaze darkened, and she left the Clinic without a backwards glance.

-x-

**A/N: **Before you read any further, let me warn you… This is not your usually fluff-fest of a HM fic. It's M-rated for quite a few reasons: cursing, blood, violence, death, mature themes, sexual situations (maybe), etc. etc. It is also a slashfic. In other words, two guys in a vaguely romantic/sexual/whatever you want to call it relationship. Don't like? Don't read. This is your first and last warning.

Now that that's out of the way… Thanks for reading thus far. I'm so glad to be posting this story finally. It's my baby. :3

~ Zel


	2. Something In Your Smile Was So Exciting

**A/N: **I'm going to be hitting myself over this fic pretty soon. I can just feel it. x-x;; I should've waited until it was all written before posting it… I'm too impatient for my own good.

Oh, and on another note… If you're trying to picture Trent in your mind while reading this fic, picture him the way he looks in IoH. In other words: sexy. ;D

-x-

Trent stretched luxuriously, blinking up at the brightness of the mid-afternoon sun. Even when his eyes were closed, the brilliant golden glare still somehow managed to shine through, painting his eyelids in all the hues of sunlight. The train behind him, an old-fashioned steam engine painted a glossy red, whistled loudly and began slowly chugging away along the rusty train tracks. Trent watched it until it disappeared from view, curving away behind a copse of evergreens, white steam billowing like a veil behind it. He glanced around the empty train platform, which over the years had become cracked and overpopulated by prickly weeds and anthills. Here and there, however, purple wildflowers bloomed amongst the weeds, a splash of color against the otherwise dull scenery.

Beauty amid the weeds. How poetic.

The platform had fallen into disrepair, Trent knew, because very few people ever came to Forget-Me-Not Valley. And those that did rarely ever left.

Mineral Town was a bustling hub of commerce compared to the Valley. In a sense, it was nice to escape from it for half of each week. In Forget-Me-Not, one could really take a moment to breathe – to appreciate the way in which hours and minutes seemed to flow seamlessly together.

Trent passed by Vesta's farm, where she and Celia were toiling in the fields, inspecting crops and examining the quality of the soil. Celia glanced up as he walked by, and her pretty face broke into a heartwarming smile.

"Hello, Doctor!" she called, and raised a hand in greeting. He smiled and waved back, bemused by how well-liked he was in the Valley. Back home, he was mostly ignored as he walked through the streets. Perhaps the Mineral Towners had simply grown used to the presence of a young doctor like himself, but either way it still felt lovely to be appreciated.

He pushed open the door to Hardy's clinic and stepped inside. The older man glanced up at him briefly, mechanical eye whirring into focus, then returned his attention to the newspaper he was reading.

"Nice of you to finally show up, boy," Hardy muttered. "I was thinking you'd gotten lost on the way here."

Trent smiled wryly. "Good morning to you as well, sir."

He set his bag down, poured himself a cup of tea, and joined Hardy at the table. He sipped at his tea amiably for a few minutes (although it was far too watery and mild for his tastes), skimming over the headlines of Hardy's newspaper. Living so far out in the country made it difficult to keep up to date with what was going on in the world, and Trent had little time for such frivolities as television.

Hardy folded his newspaper and focused his cold, appraising attention once more upon his understudy. "There's something I need to do today," he said suddenly. "I'm going into the city until the evening, to pick up some supplies and visit an old colleague of mine. So you're going to have to make the rounds for me."

Trent blinked in surprise. Hardy had never allowed him to "make the rounds" before, as he still didn't consider Trent responsible enough to entrust with the health of his patients. ("Sir, I've been a doctor for well over five years," he would say, but to no avail.)

"Y-yes, of course, sir," Trent murmured, feeling something akin to pride ignite in his heart. "I'll take care of everything."

Hardy nodded, pushing back his chair and fetching his briefcase from the top of the bookshelf. "Good. I better not hear anything negative from the regulars, you hear? Oh, and no slacking!" He pointed to his mechanical eye and leered in Trent's general direction. "This eye sees all, boy. Remember that."

Trent had to restrain an amused smile. "I understand completely," he said, putting on his best serious face. "I'll do my best not to disappoint you, sir."

Once Hardy had stepped out the door, the young doctor allowed himself a quiet laugh at his mentor's eccentricities.

The door opened a moment later, and Hardy stuck his head back inside.

"I saw that," he growled, and left.

-x-

Trent had often wondered why Hardy had never trusted him with his patients before. Now he thought he understood – they were all completely insufferable.

"I'm not taking any of your damn medicine!" Galen shouted, brandishing his cane as if it were a weapon. "Now get out of my house before I call the police!"

A muscle beneath Trent's right eye began to twitch ever so slightly. "Sir, you don't seem to understand," he said slowly, working hard to keep his temper in check. "Dr. Hardy is out of town on business today, and I'm simply filling in for him. I'm his understudy, see. My name is Trent – I'm the resident doctor in Mineral Town."

Galen stopped his angry tirade and lowered his cane, but there was still a suspicious gleam in his old eyes. "His understudy, you say?" The old man raised one bushy eyebrow, as if doubting his story. "How old are you, son?"

"… I'm twenty-five, sir," Trent replied, vaguely confused about the old man's line of questioning.

Galen snorted. He hobbled over and took a seat at the rickety old table, easing into the chair with a groan. Trent could almost hear his aging joints creaking and protesting this sudden movement.

"Twenty-five years old, and you think you're fit to be a doctor, do you?"

Now Trent was even more confused. "Well… I suppose so," he said, but his voice suddenly sounded very weak to his own ears. "I passed all my classes in med school, and I've been a doctor for nearly five years now."

Galen harrumphed in that derisive, curmudgeonly way of his, obviously unimpressed by Trent's claims. "It takes more than med school to be a doctor, boy. You're just a child in the scheme of things – I can see it in your eyes. You haven't seen anything yet."

"… I'm sorry. I don't quite understand."

Galen's eyes narrowed, and he sighed quietly – the tired sigh of an old man who had grown weary of life and all its sorrows.

"Never you mind, son," he said. "Just give me my medicine and get going. I know how you young folks are these days. Always busy with this or that, taking no time to appreciate the little things. Times have changed, they have. It's a crying shame."

_A crying shame indeed, _Trent thought as he left Galen's modest little home.

As if to prove the old man wrong, he took a moment to admire the way the trees by the river swayed in time with the crisp autumn breeze, scattering their red-gold leaves upon the swiftly flowing waters.

-x-

It was late in the evening by the time Trent finished his rounds – Cody, the sullen, moody artist, had been bitten by a wild dog while trying to sketch it (he'd stubbornly refused his shots until Trent told him about the _nastier_ effects of rabies), and he'd had to give Flora a long lecture about cutting back on the excavating while she was pregnant (though he knew she'd sneak back to the dig site soon enough). Not to mention that Gustafa had stopped him for one of his infamous esoteric speeches about the brilliance of nature.

The people in the Valley were indeed a… colorful bunch.

Tired to the utmost extent, Trent had decided to stop by the Blue Bar for a drink. Three hours later and he was still there, listening to the hazy strum of Griffin's guitar strings and Muffy and Popuri's never-ending chatter. At this point, however, he had already downed four Goddess Smiles' and several shots of something called merely "the strong stuff," and all the background noise was beginning to melt together into an unrecognizable hum.

And then he heard something that caught his attention.

"Did you hear?" Muffy was saying with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. "They say the Phantom Thief is going to strike again tonight!"

Popuri literally squealed in excitement. "Oh wow, really?" she whispered. "They say he's a real Prince Charming! Who's his target!?"

The blond barmaid glanced around the room warily, as if expecting someone to leap out of the shadows and haul her away for daring to speak of the Phantom Thief. "Apparently he's after Celia this time," she murmured, lowering her voice so that Trent had to edge a little closer down the bar. "She found the note around noontime, and she's been panicking ever since, the poor dear. I tried to comfort her – I told her that maybe it would be love at first sight and he would take her as his accomplice or confidante, but she didn't seem too thrilled by that idea either."

Popuri's crimson eyes were wide with curiosity. "It's strange," she said, tapping her chin lightly. "Celia's just a regular farm girl. What could she have that the Phantom might want?"

"You know, that's what we've been asking ourselves all day." Muffy leaned against the bar and took a dainty sip of her amber liquid of choice. She twirled the ice cubes in her glass absentmindedly, then glanced towards the clock.

"Umm… Popuri, weren't you supposed to be home an hour or two ago?"

The pink-haired girl practically leapt off of her bar stool. "Oh no, oh no, oh no…" she muttered. "Mother will be wondering where I am; I promised her I'd be home by eight! And Rick…" She suppressed a shudder at the idea of her brother confronting her, demanding to know where she'd been and who she'd been with.

Muffy was laughing quietly at the mental image of Rick throwing a fit over Popuri's curfew. (He'd make a wonderful mother someday, that was certain!) The barmaid reached under the counter and withdrew a small bottle of something dusty and indistinguishable, then handed it to one very flustered Popuri.

"Here," she said, winking mischievously. "I think Rick could probably put it to good use, no?"

The two young women shared one last laugh and a few words of parting, and then Popuri closed the door of the Blue Bar behind her and was gone. Trent continued to stare into his empty shot glasses forlornly, only semi-listening to Griffin admonishing Muffy for handing out free beverages. Instead, his drink-addled mind was focused on a slightly more intriguing subject – Skye, the Phantom Thief.

If Muffy's claims were correct (as they undoubtedly were – Forget-Me-Not was such a small place that gossip was hardly gossip at all), then the alluring Phantom Skye would be arriving to claim his next prize in just a few minutes. And as much as Trent wanted to forget about the beautiful man who had caused him so much confusion, at the same time the urge to see him again – that lithe form, that ghostly pale hair, that self-confident smirk – was too strong to resist.

Trent rummaged through his pockets and withdrew a few gold coins. He left the money on the counter, mumbled something about keeping the change, and walked out the door with only the slightest stagger in his step.

It was dark. That was the first ill-constructed thought that came to his mind. The usual darkness of nighttime seemed deeper than usual – shadows seemed to slither around his ankles like snakes, and the moon was obscured behind smoky purple clouds. The houses and buildings around him were unrecognizable black shapes in the oppressive gloom.

But then a light flickered on, across the river at Vesta's farm. And another. And another, until the entire farm was alight with bright fluorescence. Though Trent's hearing was a little off due to the alcohol interfering with his senses, if he listened closely he could hear some sort of uproar from the direction of the farm.

And then came the shout that he had been both dreading and anticipating.

"Stop! Thief!"

Trent simply stood and watched as the dark, graceful figure appeared on the bridge and made its way towards him.

"So we meet again, eh Doctor?" Skye murmured, materializing like a ghost right before Trent's eyes. His features were cast in shadow, just like everything else on this black, black night, but Trent could still see the faint gleam of his quicksilver hair, the delicate set of his cheekbones, the casual sway of his movements…

"It's as if you and I are simply destined to cross paths," the thief purred, and his voice was almost seductive. "It must be written in the stars…"

Trent cleared his throat. He was feeling oddly flushed, and immediately blamed it on the alcohol. "Wh-what did you steal from her? From Celia?" he questioned, trying to ignore the strange urge to reach out and touch this beautiful man in front of him.

"Hmm? Just this silly little music box," the thief replied, sounding bored. Through the darkness Trent could just barely make out a box-like object in Skye's hands. "Apparently it's an heirloom from her dear mother or something like that."

The Phantom stepped a little closer, so that they were almost touching, and Trent felt the flush creep throughout his entire body, making him feel as if he'd been set aflame. He could almost sense the thief's warm breath ghosting over his skin, and he longed to see those brilliant green eyes appraising him once more…

"Doctors shouldn't drink," Skye whispered, and Trent could hear the smile in his voice.

Flashlight beams flickered to life in the distance, and vague, shouted orders drifted through the still night air. The pursuing party was preparing for a hunt – one that they would never win. No one would ever win. Not against the Phantom Thief. (If Trent had been able to see anything, he would have seen Skye's exasperated eye roll at the pitiful attempts of his would-be captors.)

The Phantom's hand brushed against Trent's arm ever so slightly, and he smirked when the dark-haired man nearly jumped at this light touch. Who knew that drunken doctors were so very fun to tease? He would have to continue this at a later date…

"Point them in the wrong direction for me, would you?" Skye asked, still smirking under the cover of darkness.

And then he was gone.

Trent could do nothing but blink in weary surprise, feeling the flush that had set him ablaze slowly begin to dissipate. What was it about that man that made him feel so… strange? They had only met twice, but Trent could already sense something odd about his feelings for Skye, and they had little to do with his criminal behavior…

"Doctor Trent!" a voice called. He turned to see a small group approaching him, flashlight beams swathing through the darkness. The group was composed of Celia, Vesta, three police officers and a man in a long, dark trenchcoat, whom Trent identified as the same man from before.

"Doctor!" Celia exclaimed. "Did the Phantom Thief pass this way?" Her long brown hair was in disarray, and her gaze held a certain desperate edge that made Trent want to help her… And yet he couldn't. Not with the feel of Skye's touch still searing his skin…

"… I didn't see him," Trent heard himself mumbling, and the lie lodged itself in his heart like a poisoned arrow.

"… Oh no," whispered Celia. In the eerie glow of the flashlights, her buried pain looked all the more real.

"He might've sneaked his way past!" Vesta declared, eyes blazing with fury. She was quite the imposing sight; the garden rake she was wielding looked like it could cause some serious damage. "Or he might've headed towards the beach! C'mon – let's split up and find that thieving bastard!"

As the group split into two and departed, the man in the trenchcoat once again tipped his battered fedora in Trent's direction. But there was something in his expression – suspicion, perhaps, or doubt – that made the doctor feel suddenly wary. This, he knew, was a man to watch out for.

But for the time being Trent simply headed back to Hardy's clinic, still a bit overwhelmed from his encounter with the Phantom.

He fell into bed unceremoniously and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

-x-

After a few days in the Valley, Trent was always glad to return to Mineral Town. Forget-Me-Not was a beautiful place, yes, but it wasn't home.

A beautiful place… Leaves murmuring in the wind, waterfall cascading and refracting in the rainbow mist, the faint strum of Gustafa's guitar drifting along the breeze… Beautiful… Glinting green eyes under perfectly arched brows, bright against alabaster skin…

Trent groaned, massaging his temples in aggravation. For the past few days, no matter what he tried to occupy himself with, somehow his thoughts always came back to **him**. And it was starting to become a bit maddening.

"Are you alright?" a sweet voice asked. Trent raised his weary eyes to find Elli peering down at him with concern. He quickly plastered a fake smile on his face.

"Yes, Elli," he said. "I'm perfectly fine. Just a little tired from dealing with Jeff."

The pretty young nurse sighed dramatically, then patted Trent's arm in a comforting manner. "I understand completely. But you know Trent, I'm worried that this constant travel between Mineral Town and the Valley is starting to take its toll on you. Wouldn't it be easier to just stay home?"

"I… Yes, I suppose it would," he murmured. "But Dr. Hardy has already taught me so much. It seems like a waste to stop my visits… And the people there are wonderful, you know. A bit over-the-top at times, but wonderful all the same."

Elli's expression was one of insecurity. "But… But it seems like you hardly care about Mineral Town anymore, Trent," she said quietly, biting her lip. "It's like you're forgetting that this is your home. We need you here. What… What if something terrible happens while you're gone? What if… What if…" She broke off, unable to finish.

Trent stood quickly and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Elli, calm down," he said, locking his dark gaze with her teary brown. "It only takes about an hour to travel to and from the Valley. If something terrible happens – which it won't, I promise you – I'm only a phone call away."

Elli nodded mutely, still with that frightened look in her eyes. Trent sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist, then pulled her in close and kissed her gently. Elli responded immediately, putting her arms around his neck and leaning into the kiss.

It was in the middle of this intimate moment that Trent's thoughts inexplicably returned to the Phantom Thief. What might it be like, he wondered, to kiss the Phantom? With Elli, kissing seemed like a chore – a task that must be completed at least once a day to uphold the image of the "perfect couple." It was not unpleasant, no, but neither was it enjoyable, for Elli's soft lips always tasted like desperation. He had kissed other girls before her, of course, but had never found any pleasure in the action.

But the Phantom… Now that was different. Trent found himself imagining what it might be like to brush his lips against those of that lovely thief…

His eyes widened in horror, and he pushed Elli away none too gently. She stared at him for a few moments, her expression one of a wounded animal, and then turned on her heel and returned to her desk without a word. Trent, however, was not paying her the slightest bit of attention. He had more important issues plaguing his mind. Specifically: What the hell was wrong with him?

He had thought (foolishly, perhaps) that he had locked away **that** part of himself for good.

He should have known that things had their way of resurfacing, especially when faced with almost certain temptation…


End file.
